Chapatis,air sirap and dim sum

When I was in Standard One, my two best friends were a Malay girl and a Punjabi girl. I can still recall the long phone conversations I had with them after school. What would 7-year-old girls talk about for hours is one of life's mysteries.

Not only that, we hung out at each other's houses and talked some more and did what children did best - play. Not one moment did it occur to me that I was in a non-Chinese home or that I had chapatis for tea and drank "air sirap".

Fast forward to 2008, I am (ahem) in my 30s and my best friends remain - no, I stand corrected, the circle grew a little more - and now I have close buddies who are Malay, Indian and from mixed ethnicities or are confused. That is not the point. I still did not think twice about having Murtabak Singapura or banana leaf rice - so long the company is good. And the experience enriching.

These thoughts came to me when I read an article on an ex-Minister being quoted on creating Bangsa Malaysia. Whether it may be a popularity stunt or rhetoric, I felt that yes, rightfully said, race really does not matter. As idealistic as it sounds - surely we want the best for Malaysia and Malaysians. No denying that we are all selfish - we want to stand first in line when we collect our road tax rebates, we want the best restaurant service and we want to win the best awards. And when we do not get our way, we use the racial arguments to hide our sour grape attitudes.

The racial tone then, is stemmed from being selfish - not really racial at all. I'm no stranger to that trait - I am guilty of prejudices and ignorance too. While I can strive to change that streak in me (like in the article), can the rest of us too try? We always say we want to be different, but more often than not, we conform saying society made us behave this way and change is difficult.

Is really that difficult? I doubt it. I leafed through a magazine the other day, found a gorgeous Malay style house that I'd love to own. And as often as I can, I help a friend's sister decorate her family's Christmas tree during the December.

I want (and I believe many share my sentiment) to be different - and I want to be part of this change.

And....who cares if I speak English with a Kelantanese accent..:)

Of bus stop protests and beers...

It is that time of the year again.

Where you don your black outfits and yellow ribbons.

The last time we were in such a scenario was when The Sun ran into controversy eight years ago. We stood at Jalan 225, lighting candles and chatting away into the night.

The Candlelight Vigil for our fellow journalist and former ISA detainee was short, and sweet.

Despite the grumblings for the lack of numbers, many still showed up (and dispersed several times), and stayed while the police observed with exasperation.

Our dear colleague was released more than eight hours before the vigil - but yet we stood together. Well, yes, the tone was less serious and it turned out to be a good reunion of sorts - but nevertheless, I was proud to be part of the crew.

Even when the police gave stern orders to disperse, we did not budge, well, maybe a couple more feet in the opposite direction of the loud hailers and riot police (that too is newsworthy - what could journalists do, stab people with their pens?)




Anyhow, jokes aside, it did mark a rather tense period for the country - at least from my view. What scares me most is a small majority of shallow minded (or power hungry and overly ambitious individuals) exercise clout in the few words they say.

While the rest of us can watch, shake our heads, and let out sighs of frustrations.

Someone also joked about the lameness of a bunch of Malaysian journalists - likening us to softies compared with our Asian neighbours during protest rallies.

The South Koreans use steel pipes to clash with police, the Indonesians show their aggression with their numbers and even the Thais made a big chicken rice feast in the weeks outside Government house.

I digress.

I just feel that as much as you don't want to care anymore, you do. And you go to bed thinking (or maybe it IS me) if the political situation will fix itself or if it needs to undergo an ugly phase before the dust settles.

I'm keeping my running shoes by the door..


(pictures courtesy of Stania)

My Mind...

Procrastination Independence Manukan Island Boat Doctorate Sociology United Nations Mount Kinabalu Bangkok Discovery Red Sofa Starbucks Café SKII Asian Development Bank Cupcakes Technology Ruins Peace DNE Interview Producer Melbourne Trams Channel 31 Love Quiet Tyre Swing Coffee on a Rooftop Lorong 5 Glenmorangie Whiskey Rallies Helmet Beers in Tiong Bahru Leona Lewis Migration Nine West Useless Loneliness Guarded Hurt Dalai Lama’s brother turned CIA Translator Zimbabwe Regular Skinny Latte To Go Spinelli’s Barack Obama Sarah Palin Pain Heartbreaking Sobs Blue Skies Click Life in Boxes My Best Friends Pakistan Pilates Husband Pet Cat Authoring a Book Sadness Motorised Gadgets Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Satin Broken Shoes International Herald Tribune Milk and Thistle Christmas Red Socks Mac Book Air Yacht Club in Sentosa Island Tennis Lessons Retreat Camp Robert Kincaid Secrets Empty Heart Trusts No More Miami Ink Looking for Love

It just doesn't get better than this..

The photos do not do the places justice



Who wants to remain










in the
concreteness of it all











when they can soak



















in the colours of life?



How do you detach yourself from the daily buzzes - to just find the simplicities to embrace?
Do you question the importance of the routines that pay for your designer drinks?
Or do you want to let it all go and find beauty in human spirit - I am finding the courage to do so.